the myth of needing to train on hills: what actually prepares you for Camino terrain

Let me tell you about the time I arrived in Saint-Jean-Pied-de-Port, absolutely convinced I was undertrained for the Pyrenees because I lived in San Francisco but hadn't spent enough time trudging up and down Twin Peaks. I'd read every forum post about the Napoleon Route, watched YouTube videos of pilgrims gasping their way over the top, and genuinely believed my flat neighborhood walks had left me dangerously unprepared.

Then I watched a 68-year-old woman from the Netherlands—a country that makes Kansas look mountainous—power past me on Day 1 whilst I huffed and puffed despite all my "hill training." She smiled, wished me "Buen Camino," and disappeared around the bend like she was strolling to her local supermarket.

That was my first Frances crossing. I've now walked it six times, completed the Via Podiensis twice (once all the way to Santiago), tackled the Norte, done both the coastal and inland Portuguese routes starting from Lisbon, and walked to Finisterre five times. And somewhere around crossing number three, I finally understood something that would have saved me considerable anxiety: the obsession with hill training largely misses the point.

The Hill Training Industrial Complex

Camino forums are wild places. I say this with affection—I've spent hundreds of hours on them—but there's a particular brand of advice that gets repeated so often it becomes gospel. "You MUST train on hills." "Find the steepest incline in your area and walk it daily." "If you can't find hills, use a stair climber at the gym for two hours."

Here's what this advice gets right: the Camino has hills. Some of them are steep. The climb out of Saint-Jean is real. The Cruz de Ferro approach, O Cebreiro, the undulating madness of the Norte—yes, there's elevation gain involved.

Here's what this advice gets wrong: it creates the impression that without specific hill training, you're doomed. That somehow your body needs to learn a completely different movement pattern for inclines. That pilgrims from flat regions arrive fundamentally unprepared whilst those blessed with local mountains glide through effortlessly.

The reality? Some of the strongest walkers I've met came from the Netherlands, Belgium, and flat parts of the American Midwest. Meanwhile, I've seen plenty of people from hilly San Francisco (including myself on that first crossing) struggling despite access to steep terrain.

What Actually Happens on Camino Terrain

Let me describe the typical Camino day more honestly than the "prepare for extreme hills" crowd tends to.

On the Frances, you'll walk 20-25 kilometers on average. Of that distance, maybe 2-3 kilometers involve genuinely steep climbing on most days. Many stages are largely flat or have gentle rolling terrain. The infamous Pyrenees crossing? Yes, it's challenging—but it's also your first day, when you're freshest, most excited, and can take all the time you need. The O Cebreiro climb? Steep, but only about 8 kilometers of ascent, and you've been walking for weeks by then. Your body has adapted in ways no pre-Camino training could replicate.

The Norte is hillier overall, I won't lie. The Basque Country in particular serves up some punchy climbs. But even there, most of your actual walking time is spent on flat or gently undulating terrain.

The Portuguese routes—both inland and coastal—are genuinely pretty flat. Starting from Lisbon, you'll encounter some hills in the Alentejo region, but nothing requiring specialized training. The Via Podiensis through France has its moments (the approach to Conques comes to mind), but again, it's mostly sustained walking rather than technical climbing.

My point: the Camino isn't mountaineering. It's walking. A lot of walking. And the specific angle of that walking matters far less than the fact that you're doing it for 6-8 hours daily, day after day, for weeks.

The Real Conditioning That Matters

After all these crossings, here's what I've observed actually separates pilgrims who thrive from those who struggle:

Total walking volume trumps intensity every time. The pilgrim who walks 10 kilometers daily on flat ground for three months before departure will generally fare better than someone who did intense 5-kilometer hill workouts twice a week. Your body needs to adapt to sustained movement—the repetitive motion, the hours on your feet, the cumulative impact on joints and muscles.

Back-to-back walking days reveal the truth. Training for a single hard day means nothing on the Camino. What matters is whether you can walk 20 kilometers, sleep, and then do it again. And again. For weeks. If you're only training on weekends, try walking Saturday AND Sunday. Then add Friday evening. The compounding fatigue is what you're actually preparing for, not any individual climb.

Foot conditioning is non-negotiable. Your feet need time to toughen up, develop calluses where they naturally want them (not where you think they should), and adjust to prolonged weight-bearing. This happens through miles, not through steep miles specifically. My suggestion is walking in your actual Camino footwear—broken-in trail runners or lightweight hiking boots—for at least 200 kilometers before departure.

Pack weight matters more than terrain angle. A 10-kilogram pack makes every kilometer harder, whether you're climbing, descending, or walking on the flat. Training with your actual pack weight (or slightly more) conditions your shoulders, hips, and core in ways that directly transfer to Camino walking. I've seen pilgrims obsessed with hill training show up with an overstuffed 14-kilogram pack and immediately struggle—whilst "undertrained" pilgrims with 6-kilogram packs cruise along.

The Mental Game Nobody Discusses Enough

Here's something I wish someone had told me before my first Camino: the hard part usually isn't physical.

Yes, your body will hurt. Your feet will blister (probably). Your legs will be tired. But the moments that genuinely challenge pilgrims? They're mental.

It's day 12 and it's raining. Again. You're walking alone because your Camino friends walk at a different pace. The albergue last night had a symphony of snorers and you got maybe four hours of sleep. You're questioning why you're even doing this. The next town is 7 kilometers away and your knee has started that clicking thing.

No amount of hill training prepares you for this. What does prepare you? Walking through discomfort at home. Deliberately going out when the weather is awful. Walking when you don't feel like it. Building the mental muscle that says "I can keep going" even when part of you wants to stop.

On my third Frances, I had a day between Astorga and Rabanal where everything hurt and nothing felt meaningful. The terrain wasn't particularly difficult—gentle uphill into the Montes de León. But I was mentally exhausted, physically depleted from a stomach bug the day before, and seriously contemplating a bus to Ponferrada. What got me through wasn't leg strength from hill training. It was the memory of pushing through similar mental slumps on training walks at home, knowing that bad moments pass if you just keep moving.

What I Actually Recommend for Preparation

Go in knowing this: consistent walking volume beats sporadic intensity. Here's what I'd actually suggest based on watching hundreds of pilgrims succeed and struggle:

Start walking regularly at least 12 weeks before your Camino. Begin with whatever distance feels comfortable—maybe 5 kilometers—and gradually increase. Aim to reach 15-20 kilometer walks in your final month of training.

Walk on consecutive days whenever possible. Even if your weekday walks are only 5-6 kilometers, doing them daily builds the sustained-effort capacity you'll need.

Walk in your actual gear. Not just your shoes—your pack, too. Start with a light pack and gradually increase to your expected Camino weight. My standard Camino pack comes in around 7 kilograms including water, and I trained with 8-9 kilograms to build a margin.

Include some hills if you have them. I'm not saying hills are useless—they do build leg strength and cardiovascular capacity. But if your local "hills" are modest, don't stress about finding steep terrain. A 15-kilometer walk with gentle undulations serves you better than a 5-kilometer death march up your one local steep road.

Practice walking slowly. This sounds counterintuitive, but most pilgrims walk too fast initially. The Camino pace is typically 4-5 kilometers per hour, sustained for hours. Training yourself to maintain a steady, sustainable rhythm—rather than pushing for speed—pays dividends on the trail.

If you want to plan your Camino training schedule or have questions about specific preparation, that's exactly the kind of thing worth thinking through before you go.

The Descents Nobody Warns You About

Here's a dirty secret about Camino hills: going up is rarely the problem. Going down is.

Descending is murder on your knees. The impact, the braking, the eccentric muscle contractions—it accumulates in ways that climbing simply doesn't. I've seen more pilgrims sidelined by knee pain from descents than from any uphill suffering.

If you're going to specifically train for anything, train for downhills. Walk down stairs. Find declining paths and practice a steady, controlled descent. Consider trekking poles—I resisted them for years out of stubborn pride, and now I won't walk without them. They reduce knee impact by roughly 25% on descents, and they're useful for balance on uneven terrain regardless of incline.

The descent from the Pyrenees into Roncesvalles, the way down from O Cebreiro, the ridiculous drop into Zubiri—these are the sections where I've seen pilgrims really struggle. And none of that struggle relates to cardiovascular fitness or "not enough hill training." It's purely about knee health and descent technique.

Trusting the Process (and Your Body)

Something magical happens around day 7-10 on the Camino. Your body figures it out.

Those first few days are often rough—your muscles scream, your feet protest, everything aches. This happens regardless of how well-trained you were. The specific demands of Camino walking (the surface variations, the pack weight, the hours) simply can't be perfectly replicated at home.

But then adaptation kicks in. Your walking muscles strengthen specifically for this movement. Your feet toughen in the right places. Your cardiovascular system becomes more efficient. Your body literally rebuilds itself for the task at hand.

I've walked with first-timers who showed up barely trained and with ultra-marathoners who ran 50-kilometer races for fun. By week two, they often looked remarkably similar in their capabilities. The Camino is the great equalizer—it builds you into a Camino walker regardless of starting fitness, assuming you're not injured and you don't push through warning signs.

This doesn't mean you shouldn't train. Training reduces that initial suffering, speeds adaptation, and—crucially—reduces injury risk. But it does mean that perfect preparation isn't required. Reasonable preparation, applied consistently, is enough.

A Final Thought on Perfectionism

I've noticed something about the pilgrims who obsess over hill training: they're often the same people who obsess over having the perfect gear, the perfect route plan, the perfect packing list. There's an underlying anxiety that if they don't do everything right, the Camino will defeat them.

The Camino doesn't work that way. It has a habit of humbling the over-prepared and elevating the under-prepared. It rewards flexibility, patience, and the willingness to adapt more than any specific physical conditioning.

If you're reading this article whilst anxiously searching for hills to train on, I want to offer you permission to relax. Walk consistently. Build your base. Get comfortable in your gear. But don't torture yourself over whether you've found steep enough terrain.

The pilgrims who thrive aren't the ones who arrive in peak physical condition. They're the ones who arrive with open minds, realistic expectations, and the willingness to take each day as it comes. They're the ones who walk their own Camino rather than measuring themselves against some imaginary standard of "properly prepared."

You're going to be fine. The Camino has welcomed pilgrims of every fitness level for over a thousand years. It will welcome you too.

And if you want to ask about specific aspects of training or route selection based on your current fitness level, that's exactly the kind of conversation worth having before you start walking.

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Try asking My Camino Guide:
- What's a realistic training schedule for someone starting from scratch?
- How do I prevent knee pain on descents?
- What pack weight should I aim for on the Camino Frances?